Summer and Smoke has never achieved quite the level of popularity or
familiarity of some of Tennessee Williams's other plays, including the
earlier Glass Menagerie and A Streetcar Named Desire, and the Turtle
Shell Productions production of it at The Little Theater gives a fairly good
idea why.

It's probably Williams's most intensely passionate play, but it's not so
much poorly written as it is unspectacular, unexciting, and generally
uninvolving. A genteel Southern woman, the exciting man who tests both her
morals and her weak constitution, and the battle between what is and what
might be - these subjects are hardly uncommon in Williams's works, but
lacking characters with the complexity or weight of an Amanda Wingfield or a
Blanche Du Bois, Summer and Smoke is a far less appealing work.

Perhaps the author himself was aware of this, as he was dissatisfied with
the play in its original 1948 Broadway production, and would eventually
rewrite it as The Eccentricities of a Nightingale, which he considered less
conventional and melodramatic than Summer and Smoke. The Turtle Shell
production is beautiful, featuring fine direction by Shawn Rozsa, a lovely
set by Keven Lock, and exquisite costumes by Gentry Farley, but no element
of the production can camouflage that the play is, at its best, Williams
lite.

The central figure is Alma Winemiller (Sally Conway), who has loved her
exciting and self-indulgent neighbor, John Buchanan, Jr. (John Wesely
Cooper), ever since they were children. When John returns from school, he
reunites with Alma, and they both find themselves drawn to each other,
though John's eye can't help but stray toward the exotic Rosa Gonzales
(Chala Savino). Alma, attempting to woo John using her traditional Southern
techniques, finds herself outmatched and unable to escape her own repressive
home - her father is a reverend (Hal Blankenship), and her mother (Joan
Grant) is mentally ill and childlike - and grows to need the escape she
believes John can provide her.

Williams also tossed in a few other elements - Alma's possible addiction to
sleeping pills and the crush one of her singing students (Rebecca Welles)
has for her and eventually John - that give the play a feel very similar to
that of his other works. That Alma and John are both hiding from the world
- she with a highly affected Southern manner complete with modified vowels
and dizzy spells and he with penchant for indiscriminate gambling and
love-making - should not come as a surprise. Nor should the ending, which
is unmistakable Williams in outlook and tone.

Conway joyously wraps her voice around Alma's lilting tones, and she's great
to listen to, though she has a bit of trouble getting into the inner depths
of her character. Cooper is better, capturing a likeable
turn-of-the-century charm that can just as easily turn into a dark streak.
Ed Schiff, as his father, and Blankenship provide imposing
characterizations, and Grant turns in an intriguing and appropriately
oppressive performance. Savino and Marcelo De Oliveira (as her father) are
a bit over the top, but Welles is often delightful, and Kimberley Parente
and Sam Kressner, as younger versions of Alma and John appearing in only one
scene, do a good job.

As for Rozsa, he makes excellent use of the stage space, and has efficiently
directed the piece to bring out all the Southern atmosphere of the script.
(Jessica Lynn Hinkle's lights, often suggesting warm summer nights, help out
a bit.) One problem is probably slightly beyond his control - the acoustics
of The Little Theater aren't exactly ideal, and when the actors don't face
directly out into the house, the sound gets a bit mushy.

Still, it's hard to imagine a better place to present this play today - The
Little Theater is where Williams created and workshopped the play in 1946.
(He also lived above it, in the Westside YMCA.) That makes this production
of Summer and Smoke an interesting endeavor, well worth seeing for the
quality of its presentation and its historical significance. But as for the
play itself, history is probably the best place for it.